


hard to ignore (the blood on our hands)

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, M/M, SO, a lot of that shit, and it probs doesn't even make sense, it's not any good, really painful for me to write this, uhm that's it i think, warning for that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-18
Updated: 2013-03-18
Packaged: 2017-12-05 16:56:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/725642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I love you."</p>
            </blockquote>





	hard to ignore (the blood on our hands)

_(“I love you.”)_

Louis knows Harry doesn’t mean for it to slip out, doesn’t mean for his love to escape him in the form of words instead of hands on hips and teeth on lips and lips on skin that’s overheated. Louis knows Harry doesn’t mean it when it _does_ slip out, knows it’s just another one of those ‘things’ they say to each other while they’re fucking, little lies to get the other off (“ _You’re beautiful, you’re beautiful—stay with me forever. Stay here, here with me—I love you, I love you so much I—”),_ knows that Harry doesn’t really.

Louis knows he shouldn’t let it hurt, shouldn’t let each word stab at his heart and cut off his air so he can’t breathe (knows that if he just took some more pills, just a _little more,_ everything would be fine, everything would be perfect, everything wouldn’t fucking _hurt_ so much), but there’s only so much he can numb before it’s not enough anymore.

They’re in Louis’ bed, surrounded by little pieces of him (posters of his favorite bands covering the walls, clothes lying on the floor like white flags in dead soldiers’ limp hands, golden trophies awarded to Louis for who-knows-what that feel more like failure than accomplishment), Harry’s overly warm body covering his like the cool night covers them in a shroud that feels like shame, their hearts beating black like the sky outside, their mouths forming words they would never say under the bright light of the morning.

Harry is rocking into him, his warm hands reminding Louis that he’s real, that even though it’s snowing outside, there should be enough heat inside Harry’s body to force out the ice that courses through Louis’ veins, to force his frozen heart to melt until it’s nothing more than a part of the ocean (Louis is sure the ocean is full of broken hearts, broken people littering the ocean floors like bruises litter Louis’ skin). Louis is holding onto Harry like he’s the only lifeline left tethering him to reality (fingers gripping, hands tugging on Harry’s curls, fingertips sliding down his neck, nails leaving trails of red on his back, one hand clutching Harry’s shoulder like he’ll evaporate if Louis loosens his grip), pulling him back from the things that swirl around in his head, waiting to break the surface of his conscious mind and flow out of his mouth (so many things, so many secrets he doesn’t want to keep, so many demons to keep fighting for possession of his own body).

Harry’s face is buried in Louis’ shoulder; his fingers are digging into Louis’ sides while the force of his hips cause the bedframe to hit the wall, his breathing sounding too loud in the small space of Louis’ room.

Harry is whispering sweet nothings into Louis ear, but Louis doesn’t want to hear anything (shut up, shut up, _shut up!),_ just wants to feel something that doesn’t hurt, wants to feel the truth seeping into his bones like blood seeps from the wounds left on Harry’s skin by some stranger’s blade. He can’t keep doing this, can’t keep pretending that Harry isn’t killing him, can’t—

“Love you, Lou. Fuck.”

(Louis feels empty.)

Louis holds back the sob that threatens to rip through his throat like Harry’s lies rip through his heart. Instead he looks up at the ceiling and counts the cracks (wonders if there’s cracks in his smile), lets Harry finish, lets Harry wrap himself around Louis’ frail body and try to melt the ice that he’s become.

(“ _Love you.”)_

“I don’t think we should see each other anymore,” Louis whispers, his words coming out twisted, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. He rolls to the side, forgetting how small his bed is, and falling off, hitting the floor with a thud. He scrambles to get up, grabbing a shirt on the way, and pulling it on.

When he looks up, he sees Harry looking up at him with panic (his eyes are so green beneath the moonlight, so beautiful), and Louis’ heart breaks (what’s left of it, anyway).

“Was it. Was it because I said I loved you?” he murmurs, his eyes full of sincerity, and Louis looks away, balling his hands into fists at his side. Harry crawls off Louis’ bed, his legs getting tangled in the sheets, landing in a heap by Louis’ feet.

He stays on his knees, and looks up at Louis, his gaze questioning, _pleading,_ “Louis, I—it was just one of those things. Just one of those sex things people say. Please don’t. Don’t do this.”

And Louis already knew that. He already _knew,_ so why does it hurt so much? Why does it feel like his heart is being ripped out of his chest, still beating, being held in Harry’s hands like it’s nothing?

“Yeah. I already knew that,” he replies, “Just. Get out of my house, Harry.” It's barely a whisper, but Harry hears him, probably hears the heartbreak dripping from every word. Harry's always been good with things like that.

Harry makes a wounded noise and tugs on Louis hand until he’s on his knees in front of him, Harry’s hands cradling his face, pressing their foreheads together, breathing in Louis’ air.

“No, Lou. Come on. Please—I don’t love you, okay? I don’t—I don’t love you. Please. I don’t love you, I don’t—“ and he kisses Louis like the world is ending, like they're lying in the middle of a battlefield and this is the only thing they have left. He kisses Louis like that’s all it takes. Like that’s all Louis needs to be okay with this.

(Louis feels empty.)

Louis hands push Harry roughly away, and he screams, “ _Get out! Get OUT! I don’t fucking want you to love me! Get out! Get the fuck out!”_

And the room is blurred now, because Louis can’t see through the angry tears slipping down his cheeks, and his throat is aching like his chest is aching (like his heart is _aching_ ), and fuck if he doesn’t just want to be left alone. But Harry’s arms are wrapping around him, and they’re sinking to the floor, falling fast until Louis is on his back, and Harry is leaning over his body, fingers intertwined with Louis’, his other hand on Louis’ neck.

“Lou. Believe me. Believe me, okay?” he leans down to kiss Louis, his lips shaking, his breathing harsh, his voice hoarse as if it had been him screaming and not Louis.

“Fuck, Louis—believe me. I don’t love you. I don’t,” he grits out, his eyes wild and frantic, "I don't—can't." Only it sounds like Harry is trying to convince himself more than Louis, but Louis doesn’t care, because he thinks he might understand now.

“Harry,” he murmurs, forcing his words to fit themselves somewhere in-between their sweaty bodies, somewhere in-between their broken hearts, somewhere they’ll fill that’ll feel right, “Harry, tell me you don’t love me anymore."

Louis whispers it into Harry's neck, "Tell me. Tell me, please." 

But Harry looks like he’d rather do anything but tell him that.

“Louis, I—“ and it sounds like he's as wrecked as Louis. And, yeah. Louis thinks he understands now. So he shushes Harry with his lips, bruising him the only way he knows how (with lips and fingers and tongue and teeth), trying to claw his way out of this mess.

It’s only later, when Louis thinks Harry is asleep, that he whispers, “Love you, too,” into the cold night air, feeling a little bit of the ice melt.

(“ _I love you.”)_

 _(_ Louis doesn’t feel too empty anymore.)

(And Harry doesn't feel like he's fighting a losing battle by loving Louis like he does.)

 

**Author's Note:**

> I should be writing dark (or ya know, sleeping) but I couldn't get this out of my head after watching a little bit of shameless ~~also may or may not have written a bit of my feelings into this. also maybe a little bit of tears were shed so please like this or i'll cry~~  
>  So. here ya go. some angst to tide you over.  
> comments are great! ~~and i'd really like some on this story okay it's one thirty in the morning and i'm fragile i neeeed to know what people think of this little fic thing~~ .x
> 
>  
> 
> ~~tumblr:~~[haz-made-lou-do-it](http://haz-made-lou-do-it.tumblr.com)  
>  twitter:[bravery_has_won](https://twitter.com/bravery_has_won)


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